


After a Fashion

by baroque_mongoose



Category: Girl Genius
Genre: Gen, Metafiction, Post-modern silliness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-26
Updated: 2015-01-26
Packaged: 2018-03-09 05:35:23
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,927
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3238232
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/baroque_mongoose/pseuds/baroque_mongoose
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Remember when the Jägers found the cupboard full of hats?  This is what else happened.</p>
            </blockquote>





	After a Fashion

**Author's Note:**

> I probably owe Phil and Kaja Foglio some kind of apology for this. :-)

“How do de vimmin vear dese tings?” Dimo grumbled. “Giff me a hand vit de laces, Oggie.”

“Hyu vant me to cut through dem?” asked Oggie, brightly.

“Hy iz tempted,” said Dimo. “Very tempted. But hy tink de Professors und der Fashion Clenk vould haff a fit.”

“Der Fashion Clenk iz already haffink a fit,” said Maxim, with a grin. He was still twirling in front of the full-length mirror in the dressing room.

“Vell, ve dun vant de Professors haffink vun, or dey vill write us into zumtink nasty,” Dimo pointed out. “Und for gootness' sake, Maxim, schtop prancink around like an opera soprano.”

“Iz a goot dress,” said Maxim. “Iz yust my colour.”

Dimo, with some help from Oggie, finally extracted himself from his own Ugly Stepsister gown and hung it up on the rail. “Iz all very vell for hyu,” he said. “Zum of us iz happier in trousers.”

“Und hyu look better in trousers too, Dimo,” said Oggie. “But, iz vun ting about der dress. Hyu could definitely schcare der hell out of hyu enemies in battle.”

“Hy not _fightink_ in it,” Dimo retorted. “De skirts get in der vay.”

“Iz no vorse dan a beeg cloak,” Maxim pointed out. “Und hy fight in my cloak all der time. Ven hyu fightink, hyu dun yust vant efficiency. Hyu vant schtyle, too. Now dis gown got some serious schtyle.”

“If hyu iz goink to fight in dot, hy iz not goink to be seen vit hyu,” said Dimo, pulling on his trousers.

“Hyu iz schtill clingink to outvorn ideas about der yender binary,” replied Maxim.

Oggie blinked. “Vot?”

“Iz hyu vindink us up?” Dimo demanded.

There was a voice from outside the door. “Are you three decent yet?”

“No,” Dimo called back. “Maxim von't take off his dress.”

“Oh, all right. You've probably got a while, anyway. The Fashion Clank is still... not himself.”

Oggie had wandered off to the back of the dressing room. “Hy vonder vot iz in here?” he said, trying the handle of a door that was half-hidden behind a rail of costumes. “Ho. Iz locked.”

“Hy fix dot,” said Maxim. “Hy got a hairpin.”

Dimo rolled his eyes. “Hyu yust _vould_ haff a hairpin.”

“Vell, hairpins iz useful. Vatch.”

Maxim proceeded to pick the lock. He opened the door with a flourish. “Ta-daaaaa!”

“Oh, vow,” Oggie breathed. “Dimo! Look!”

Maxim peered round the door. “Hey,” he said. “Bet hyu iz glad hy got a hairpin now.”

The cupboard was full of hats. There were top hats, bowler hats, shakos, turbans and fezzes. There were hats with veils, hats with feathers, hats with flowers, and one hat with entirely too much fruit. There were hats designed to cope with the rigours of a Russian winter, and hats designed to be shown off at a midsummer wedding. There were black hats, white hats, and hats in every colour of the rainbow.

“Ve yust died und vent to heaven,” said Dimo, with a slow grin.

“Get dem all out zo ve can see dem properly, Oggie,” said Maxim, “und careful hyu dun crush dem.”

“And... er... mind you don't crush me, either,” said a very familiar voice from the depths of the cupboard, somewhere behind all the hats.

“Vot?!” said Oggie.

“Iz Mister Vooster!” said Maxim. “Mister Vooster, vot der dumboozle hyu doink hidink in a cupboard?”

“Of course he iz hidink in a cupboard,” said Dimo, logically. “He iz a spy. Vot else vould he be doink?”

Mr Wooster emerged, with his arms full of hats. “Well, as a matter of fact I don't often hide in cupboards, Dimo,” he said. “But in this case.... well, I should be very grateful if you chaps didn't mention it to the Professors. I'm really not supposed to be here.”

“Iz no problem, Mister Vooster,” said Oggie, loyally. “Ve keep very qviet. Ve not seen hyu at all. Yust lots of luffly hats.”

“Thank you, Ognian,” said Mr Wooster. “Why don't I make myself useful and get the rest of the hats out for you? And by the way, Maxim, that dress suits you rather well.”

“Ho, dun encourage heem,” said Dimo, with a sigh.

“Zo,” said Maxim, “vot iz hyu doink hidink in der cupboard?”

“Well, I would like a little chat with the Fashion Clank,” Mr Wooster explained, “and this seems like the best opportunity. You see, as Dimo will have told you, the Wyrm of Limerick was attacked, and consequently we lost all our luggage. The waistcoat and trousers will do at a pinch, but I'm badly in need of at least one clean shirt, and ideally also a couple of spare collars and pairs of cuffs.”

“Vot hyu tink of dis?” asked Oggie, beaming. He was wearing a very large, and exceedingly pink, hat.

Dimo scratched his chin. “Hy not sure iz qvite hyu colour.”

“I think it has a certain panache, Ognian,” said Mr Wooster. “And your top hat is also very nice, Dimo, but I fear it is a little on the small side.”

“Hy tink dis vun vould vork for hyu, Mister Vooster,” said Maxim, handing him the one with the surfeit of fruit.

Mr Wooster tried it on politely, and looked in the mirror. “Um... I'm not sure it's quite me,” he said.

“Hy qvite sure iz not,” said Dimo. “Maxim, hyu iz an eediot.”

“Vy has it got to be a secret dat hyu iz seeink der Fashion Clenk?” asked Oggie.

“Because,” Mr Wooster explained, “if the Professors knew I was here, they might very well ask me to pose for one of their paper doll series. I understand it is highly popular.”

“Vot's wrong vit dot?” asked Maxim, astonished. “Ve've all done it. Dot's vy ve here now. Ve been posink in de pretty dresses.”

“No,” said Dimo. “ _Hyu_ been posink in der pretty dress. _Ve_ been posink in dese hideous tings. But, hey, pipple seem to vant dem.”

“Yes, but... er... you don't mind standing around in your... er...”

“Drawers!” Oggie supplied, helpfully.

“Yes, Ognian. Indeed,” said Mr Wooster, who was now visibly pink around the ears.

“Hy look dem goot in my drawers,” said Maxim gleefully, trying on a bishop's mitre. With the dress, it looked more than usually incongruous.

“Ja,” said Dimo. “Und hyu dun mind who knows.”

“Hy drive de vimmin vild,” said Maxim.

“Ja, vell, if dey schtill go vild vhen dey see hyu lookink like dot, dey got vot hyu might call zum pretty specific tastes,” said Dimo drily.

“Hy bet dere iz plenty of vimmin vot like cross-dressink bishops,” said Maxim. “Vot do hyu tink, Mister Vooster?”

“I'm afraid I have absolutely no idea, Maxim,” replied Mr Wooster, disconcerted. “It's... ah... not the sort of question I go round asking.”

“Hyu iz not yust a cross-dressink bishop,” said Oggie. “Hyu iz a _purple_ cross-dressink bishop. Dot probably makes a difference.”

“I think I may be a little out of my depth,” said Mr Wooster. “But, really, isn't it personality that matters? If a woman finds Maxim attractive, surely it's not going to make a great deal of difference what he's wearing.”

“Ja, but if hyu iz vearing notting but hyu drawers, dey notice hyu,” said Maxim, grinning.

“Yes... I should imagine they probably do,” said Mr Wooster. “But I really don't want to attract that kind of attention. I'm a respectable... er... spy. I do realise that sounds like a contradiction in terms, but it's true, or at least as true as I can manage to make it within the limitations of that difficult profession.”

“Vell,” said Dimo, “hyu goink to haff trouble talking to der Fashion Clenk, Mister Vooster. He has got himself all overvound.”

“Ja,” said Maxim. “He iz so tense, he makes even hyu look relaxed. Und now his spring has gone sproink.”

“De Professors iz lookink after heem,” said Oggie.

“But if all hyu need iz a shirt,” Dimo pointed out, “dere iz probably vun in here. Dere iz yust about everyting in here.”

“Vot about dis vun?” asked Oggie, looking through the rail.

“That's a very nice shirt,” said Mr Wooster, “but it is, unfortunately, green. And, while green is a most attractive colour, it will not do for a dress shirt. It needs to be white.”

“Anyvay, hyu dun vant to vear a green shirt vit hyu red vaistcoat,” said Maxim, sagely. “Hyu vould look like a Christmas decoration.”

“Vy not yust add zum liddle gold bells und make der most of it?” asked Oggie, cheerfully.

“Ah... an interesting idea, but not _quite_ the look I'm aiming for,” said Mr Wooster.

Dimo was looking through another rail. “Dis iz better,” he announced. “Iz probably a liddle too beeg for hyu, Mister Vooster, but dot iz better dan too schmall.”

“I say... yes, that is rather big,” said Mr Wooster. “But it is white, and it has a detachable collar. If we don't find anything better, it will do, I think. Thank you.” He walked over to examine it more closely. “A detachable collar... with, I see, a small embroidered fleur-de-lis? Given that and the size, I think I have a very good idea whose shirt this is. I think it may be diplomatic to wear the collar the other way round.”

“Hy shouldn't vorry,” said Maxim. “He got loads.”

“You might not say that if you were in my position. We're dealing with him at this very moment.”

“Ho, _dot_ guy,” said Dimo, realisation catching up with him. “Der Gil should haff smekked heem harder.”

“I'm inclined to concur,” replied Mr Wooster. “No, I can't see any other suitable shirts. I think I had perhaps better take this one... what's that?”

“Hy tink iz de Professors,” said Maxim. “Hyu better get back in der cupboard!”

“Dot von't vork, eediot,” said Dimo. “Dey vill vant us to put all de hats back, und dey vill probably schtand over us to see ve do it.”

Maxim frowned thoughtfully. Then his face brightened. “Hy know! Qvick, Mister Vooster. Put Dimo's dress on und go und schtand under der rail. If ve put a hanger behind hyu und drape dis big fur schtole over hyu head und shoulders, most likely dey von't notice.”

“Oh, well done, Maxim,” said Mr Wooster. “Yes, that could work.” He scrambled into the garment.

“Hy lace hyu up, Mister Vooster,” Oggie offered.

“No, hyu von't,” said Dimo. “If hyu do dot, iz goink to be obvious dere iz zumvun in it. It got to look like it yust hangink on der rail.”

Mr Wooster had just got himself into position, with a little artistic assistance from Maxim over the matter of the fur stole, when the door opened and there was a shocked voice. “You boys!”

“Hyu got zum great hats in here, Professoressa,” said Maxim, unrepentantly.

“Yes, well, you are going to put them all back. Right now.”

“Can't ve use dem for de paper dolls?” asked Maxim. “Look at dis vun. It looks really goot on me, ja?”

“Well... now you mention it, I suppose you've had worse ideas. All right. I was wondering what we were going to do for Friday, since Mamma Gkika couldn't make it. Yes, we'll have the hats. Why not?”

“Of course Mamma Gkika can't make it,” said Dimo. “Iz because she iz schtuck in Mechanicsburg. Und vy iz she schtuck in Mechanicsburg? Iz because of der plot. If hyu vanted Mamma Gkika, hyu should haff...”

“Shot op,” hissed Maxim.

“Vell,” said Dimo. “Hy got to be a Yeneral. Und hyu know dot makes my brain hurt.”

“Can hy keep dis vun?” asked Oggie sweetly, indicating the large pink hat.

“Well... yes, I suppose so, as long as you don't wear it in the comic... hey, wait a minute.” Mr Wooster cringed inwardly as he heard the sound of rapidly approaching footsteps. The fur stole was lifted into the air, and he looked up apologetically.

“Ah,” he said.

“Mr Wooster?” said the Professoressa.

“I, ah, needed a new shirt,” he explained.

“Oh, sweetie. You should have just asked. We'll draw you one. It's no trouble at all! What have you got there?”

“I believe it's an old one of von Blitzengaard's,” he confessed.

“It'll look like a tent on you. Why on earth did you go to all the trouble of hiding?”

“I... was worried you might want me to be a paper doll,” he admitted.

“H'mm,” said the Professoressa. “Well, you _have_ got some quite ardent lady fans. We could...”

“Aaargh! No! Please!”

“He also,” Dimo rumbled, “got t'ree goot friends here. Ve schtand up for heem.”

“Ja,” said Maxim, twirling his skirts in a surprisingly menacing fashion. “Ve dun qvite underschtand vy he dun vant to do it, but if he dun vant to do it, dot iz goot enough for us.”

“Ja,” Oggie agreed. “Hyu alvays writink heem into dangerous situations, zo der least hyu can do iz not make heem schtand around in his drawers if he dun vant to.”

“Und besides,” added Maxim, “vy vould de ladies vant to look at Mister Vooster's drawers vhen dey iz velcome to look at mine?”

“Because zum vimmin like brains,” said Dimo. “Dey dun all vant to look at a beeg purple show-off.”

“He dun keep his brains in his drawers,” Oggie objected.

“Hy tink zum pipple round here do,” said Dimo. “Not lookink at anyvun in particular.”

The Professoressa laughed. “Oh, you three! All right, Mr Wooster. If you'd just like to come through here, the Professor will draw you a new shirt, and I promise we won't make you pose for a paper doll. Not this time, anyway.”

“Thank you,” said Mr Wooster, deeply relieved.

“And you'll want some more collars and cuffs too, I take it?”

“Yes, please. And... some spare shirt studs would be very useful, if those could be managed.”

“Oh, those are easy. Just tiny circles. We can do plenty of those. And, Maxim, why are you still wearing that dress?”

“Iz a goot dress,” replied Maxim, beaming.

Mr Wooster extracted himself from Dimo's gown. “You know,” he observed, “this dress is not, in itself, actually bad. The problem is really the padding. It needs to be in the right place. I think, Dimo, you might have worn a crinoline to some advantage; the hips need to be filled out too, as well as the, ah, upper half.”

“Told hyu,” said Maxim, smugly. “Hy said it vould haff been better vit a crinoline, und vould hyu listen?”

“In a minute ve goink to find out if hyu really can fight in dot dress,” said Dimo.

“There is to be no fighting in the dress,” said the Professoressa firmly. “We may possibly need it again. Maxim, for goodness' sake, take it off. It's not as if you don't look good in your normal clothes, after all.”

“Ho, all right,” said Maxim.

“Now, Mr Wooster. If you'll just come with me...”

Mr Wooster followed the Professoressa along a narrow corridor and into another, somewhat larger, room. It was full of an improbable mixture of props and bits of scenery, including a couple of classical fluted columns, assorted statuary, a variety of silk flowers, a penny-farthing, tables and chairs, some truly dreadful watercolour landscapes, and a perambulator. In the middle of it all stood a chaise longue, all gilt carved wood and red velvet, and the Fashion Clank was lying on it with an oiled rag over his forehead, emitting the occasional feeble “bzzt!”. The Professor and a number of other people were tending him.

“Hey, Professor,” said the Professoressa. “Can you spare a moment to draw a new shirt for Mr Wooster? And some extra collars and cuffs?”

The Professor looked up, surprised. “Sure. But what's he doing here? He wasn't in the play.”

“Trying to find a new shirt,” the Professoressa explained.

The Fashion Clank peered between two of his attendants. “Bzzzt!” he exclaimed, excitedly.

“I think he's rallying,” said one of them.

“Ah!” exclaimed the Fashion Clank. “The British spy, no less! Now here is a man who will truly appreciate the fine points of my art. A man who knows and loves first-class tailoring when he sees it. Yes... yes, the waistcoat is already a beautiful piece, but I think we could complement that. I am seeing a stylish tailcoat in red washed silk to match the waistcoat. I am seeing ridiculous numbers of brass buttons. And... oh, indeed, I think Monsieur could _certainly_ get away with red trousers for evening wear, with, perhaps, a contrast stripe of the same charcoal grey as the waistcoat collar and trim. Now, for a second ensemble, may I ask if Monsieur has considered a dark green? With the addition of judicious quantities of gold braid, I am quite sure that...”

The Professoressa held up a hand. “I'm sorry to disappoint you,” she said, “but Mr Wooster is not posing for a paper doll. Not this time.”

“What?!” the Fashion Clank protested. “But he is a natural model! He has all the poise and sense of style, without the slightest tendency to indulge in vulgar ostentation. Picture him, if you will, in white and gold, a combination which he could _undoubtedly_ wear far better than that _boorish_ von Blitzengaard...”

It was at precisely this moment that Maxim walked in, still wearing the purple gown and the bishop's mitre. “Hey,” he said. “Hy got a tear in my trousers. Ken hyu draw me a new pair?”

“Bzzzzt,” said the Fashion Clank, weakly. “Please, bring me a new oily rag.”


End file.
